


Season 2 ideas

by racoongirl8000



Category: Blood Drive (TV)
Genre: Collars, F/F, F/M, Gore, Lots of Sex, M/M, Sex, Some forms of conditioning, eventually
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-12
Updated: 2019-07-12
Packaged: 2020-06-27 05:24:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,171
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19784128
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/racoongirl8000/pseuds/racoongirl8000
Summary: My version of what season 2 will be like, later chapters will include sex and lots of gore.Heart Industries has collapsed, Arthur is trapped on an isolated island, Karma and Grace are presumed dead as well as Julian Slink, Christopher and Aki.  Heart industries had a parent company though, and they're eager to rectify the mistakes of its subsidiary company as well as exploit the Scar to its full potential. What will happen to our intrepid heroes? Read each chapter to find out!





	Season 2 ideas

The room was lit dimly, filled with white coats scurrying about like ants. In the centre of the room a disembodied head laid on a clinical hospital bed, the white sheets were pristine and clean except for infrequent black and red stains. The space under the head was drenched in this substance and a quiet “drip, drip” sound was apparent in the background noise. The head itself was wired up to stainless steel machines emitting a low hum as well as vibrations through the floor, small waves rippled through the growing puddle beneath the head. Its expression was inhuman, it had one edge of its mouth pulled up with thin lips revealing jagged teeth and its eyes would make even the bravest adult look away in fear. The eyes were wide and heavily dilated, if anyone had cared to stare long enough, they would have noticed tiny cogs repetitively whirring inside the blue tinted pupils. Sparks were visible through the gaps in its jet-black hair, construction materials had taken chunks out of the metal skull. Plaster and shards of glass were dotted around the top of its head, and a spike of iron was still wedged in the cranium.

One of the scientists stopped by the robot head, leaning down to grab the spike and give it three successive tugs, removing it from the frozen piece of machinery. A black substance, tar-like, poured out in a large rush inflating the growing puddle below.

  
“Shit!” The scientist, still holding the spike in his right hand, jumped out of the deluge’s way unsuccessfully. Dark splotches dotted the right-hand side of his lab coat, he continued to mutter profanities as he shook it to somehow shake off the stain. The lab enjoyed a small rumble of laughter at his antics, his colleagues watched with enjoyment at his daft mistake, the conniving even glanced up at the one-way mirror in the hope their overseers would criticise his mistake. A tannoy speaker crackled on, ending both movement and speech in the room.

  
“Mr Sam Whitmore please report to the shift supervisor outside”, the man with the stained coat paled to an alarming shade of light brown. The smooth grey walls of the room started to vibrate with a loud high-pitched whine and with a large screech, the wall opposing Mr Whitmore parted. The new doorway could only be described as fleshy, thin strands of flesh were strung between the sides and a swirling mass of sinew and gore lined its walls. Mr Whitmore gulped, eyes wide as a deer in front of headlights, he handed the spike to one of his colleagues, a flaming haired woman with cruel eyes and crueller lips who was smirking and stepped through the doorway. His departure emanated a sound as if a vacuum was inhaling some sort of wet mass, a sort of slurp, and then closed quickly after him leaving the walls, once again, smooth. The tannoy repeated its announcing crackle,

  
“Mr Sam Whitmore’s employment has been terminated, any queries involving this now ex-member of staff will also result in termination”, the tannoy clicked off.  
The scientists resumed their work with increased haste, knowing that those who did not perform perfectly would join Sam Whitmore in the next life. The red-haired colleague curled her lips into a snarl and threw the spike into a tray adjacent to the head, sending a rattle through the room. Her coat had Dr Niamh Milligan embroidered just above the top left pocket of the lab coat in black thread. She drew herself up to her full height to make her presence known, attempting to broadcast a front of authority.

  
“Please remember that there can be no contamination with Chemical X, it is an extremely dangerous substance and any who refuse to heed my warnings will join Mr Whitmore.” The other scientists had little reaction to her proclamation, a few suddenly decided that the floor had become interesting. She combed her unruly hair back into a messy ponytail and tied it with a tatty brown hair band, striding over to the main console. This piece of equipment had started to emit short bursts of noise in an ever-decreasing interval, the lights flashing up in a multitude of colours.

“Are we ready?” Niamh called out, eager for this mess to be over with for selfish reasons, her fingers trembling for a smoke. She laid her perfectly manicured hand on the lever of the main console, muscles tensing in preparation. Looking around the room she met everyone’s eyes in order to receive the go-ahead, turning her head slowly all her colleagues, one by one, gave her a brief nod. For the final confirmation, Niamh waited for the overseers’ signal, a strobe light fixed adjacently to the mirror behind which the overseers observed. Green meant to go, red meant to stop with a large chance both she and her workforce would be executed for a mistake. Silence hung in the air as the room’s occupants waited with bated breath, Niamh’s hand felt frozen and her palms were sticky with sweat. The light flashed green, Niamh wasted no time and dragged the lever down.

She was reminded briefly of a black and white movie she’d seen when she was young, an illegal copy of Frankenstein’s monster. They were raising a monster from the dead in a parody of the film, Niamh only hoped that they would live long enough to see its eventual destruction. Electricity flashed and the machines went wild, scientists were in a fluster as they desperately tried to keep the equipment from overheating. Niamh was ignorant of her colleagues’ movement, instead transfixed by the twitches and spasms overtaking the head. The eyes went into a flurry of movement, eyelids refusing to fix on a resting position. The mouth opened wide, the mechanisms in the jaw had reached their limit as a large whirring sound could be heard. It seemed to be stuck on a loop as it kept saying

  
“I, I, I, I, I” Niamh snapped her attention away from this grotesque imitation of life and pushed the scientist at the console to take his place. She fought to keep the current from overloading the machines to no avail, with a large fizzle the machines shut off as one. The lights also cut out, leaving the room in darkness for a few moments with the only source of light coming from the disembodied head. A large red glow grew and faded in set time intervals, illuminating the scientists’ fearful faces.  
A large purring voice sent a shudder through Niamh’s back.

  
“Well hello there, my name is Julian Slink the master of ceremo-“It stops abruptly, eyes racing around seemingly in search of something.  
“Where is Arthur?” It asks, tongue licking its lips and eyes boring into Niamh’s. “I’m going to need to see the Cop”, he spat out the apparently offensive word, “before I talk to any of you or your masters.” Near the end of his sentence, his eyes focused on the mirror. “Capiche?”


End file.
